Coffee Break

Thursday, July 3, 2014

(Published in Star of Mysore, June 24, 2014)

By Sujata Rajpal :

If there is one thing which sets the children of Private
schools apart from those in Government schools, it is the exposure to advanced
teaching methodologies and quality education. Government school children are also
at the receiving end due to unavailability of qualified teachers, and poor student
teacher ratio which aggravate the despicable scenario and further widen the class
divide. Shouldn’t the race be considered
null and void, if there is no common starting line for all? Bring everyone at
par and then watch the fun.

Pratham Mysore continues to
do its bit to bridge this gap as far as the exposure to quality education is concerned.
Its most recent initiative is aimed at bringing the children from government
schools to the forefront of competitive excellence. The objective is to prepare
the high school children to take up NMMS (National
Means cum Merit Scholarship) examination conducted by the Department of State Educational
Research and Training (DSERT) in collaboration with State and Central
Government Education departments. It awards scholarships
to meritorious students of economically weaker section and thereby helps in
reducing the dropout rate of children at Class VIII.

Dr T. Padmini, Founding Trustee of Pratham along with
Dr Yoganandan, Professor of Physics at Vidya Vardhaka Junior college, worked on
the methodology to execute the same.

As a pilot project, 39 children from three Government Schools
(Government High School, Vontikoppal, Adarsha Vidyalaya, Vinayakanagar and
Government High School Medar Block) were selected through an aptitude test for the
intensive coaching programme.

Fourteen children coached by Pratham have
successfully cleared NMMS examination. They will get a scholarship of Rs
24,000/ for four years. At
the State level, 56 children have passed the examination from Mysore North
Block with only 14 children from the Government Schools. It is a matter of
pride that all the 14 children were attendees of Pratham coaching programme for
NMMS.

The students went through rigorous coaching on Aptitude,
Science, Social Science, Math and Languages. The classes were conducted for six
months after school hours by Pratham’s enthusiastic team of volunteers. When it
comes to coaching children from families with hand- to- mouth existence, the
challenge is not just training them to learn the curriculum. Besides coaching,
there were logistics issues like arranging light snacks for children as they would
come straight from their respective schools, transporting them to a common centre,
keeping their motivational levels high and such other issues which most of us
cannot comprehend. But as they say, if there is will, there is always a way.
All issues become non issues when there is a bigger purpose to achieve.

The customized programme followed a structured
approach to teaching including three
mock tests , and used abundant visual aids.

“A picture is equal to one thousand words. Visual
representation helps in better retention and understanding. I used PPTs and
other forms of pictorial representation to teach Math and Social Studies. Even
the Great Wall of China should be explained through visuals,” tells Serena Lobo,
a volunteer with Pratham. Serena is now an employee of Pratham.

“Apart from teaching aids and a structured approach,
what actually works is the positive attitude towards students. Shun the negative labels and see what wonders
they are capable of doing. The objective of this programme is not just to coach
them to get the scholarship but instil confidence in them to face life,” tells
Dr Padmini.

Nayana M , a 9th
grader from Vontikoppal Government School was thrilled when I spoke to her over
the phone. She is one of the 14
recipients of NMMS scholarship this year.
“I am going to buy only books with the scholarship money, and I want to
study Commerce after SSLC,” said Nayana. Her mother Leela who works as a house help
called me back as soon as I ended the call.
“Madam, I forgot to tell you, I am very happy not only because my
daughter is getting a scholarship of Rs 500 per month but because this
programme has improved her confidence level. Look, how confidently she spoke to
you over the phone just now,” said the proud mother.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

“Skating
rink,” Samar instructed the auto rickshaw driver as he hopped into the first
vacant auto spotted on the road. His heart was pounding. He hadn’t stepped foot
into the place for eight years. That day, something was pulling him towards it.

Samar
had turned eighteen last month. Coincidentally, his admission to the University
of Pennsylvania was confirmed the same day. This could have been the best birthday gift
for any student but nothing excited him in life - neither getting an
opportunity to study in one of thetop colleges in the US nor birthdays.

“Wow! That’s wonderful news, I am so proud of
you,” Anup had exclaimed, stretching his arms to embrace his son when he
overheard Samar talking to a friend on the phone. As always, Samar reciprocated his father’s
hug with a shrug.

It
was the first time Samar would be going so far from home; he didn’t know if he
was running away from his father or himself.

His
room resembled an ocean of clothes, eatables and books which had to find a
place in the new suitcase that his father had kept it in the room last
night.

“Should I help you pack?” Anup asked when he
saw Samar sitting beleaguered amongst the heap of woollens on the bed.

“No
thanks, I can manage,” Samar replied as coldly as he could, his head still
buried in the suitcase.

+++

The
auto stopped right in front of the huge iron gate. The deafening noise of
skates rubbing against the concrete rink could be heard from outside. There was a time when that noise had pumped
adrenalin into him.

It
was evening. He walked in with hesitant steps. The place was full of children,
the instructors blowing whistles, mothers impatiently waiting for their
children to finish, like it always had been when his life revolved around
school, the skating rink and his loving parents.

Samar
lowered himself on a stone bench and watched the children skating on the track.

“Samar,
run fast!” his mother’s voice echoed in his ears.

The
vacant look in his eyes deepened on seeing a woman holding out a water bottle
for her young son at the edge of the rink as she waited for him to complete his
circuit on the rink. The boy paused to
take a sip of water from the bottle before resuming the race. The scene
reminded him of his mother who would hold a water bottle for him in a similar
manner, her one foot inside the track.

“Mamma!
Stay outside, you will get hurt,” he would tell her.

His
mother picked him up from school every day on her scooter and brought him to
the skating rink. After gulping down a glass of milk and a few biscuits which
she carried with her, he would start his daily practice of fifty rounds.
Homework, followed by dinner, reading and a bed time story telling session by
his mother, that had been his routine for as long as he could remember.

“Samar, you have the potential to become an
international champion, you must practice daily,” his mother encouraged him
when he sometimes complained of boredom. All of ten, he was already a state
level junior champion.

“Grow up, you are ten years old and still a
mamma’s boy,” Anup would reprimand his son affectionately when he would see
Sarita pushing bites of chappties dipped
in dal into Samar’s mouth while the boy worked on his school assignments .
Samar was very attached to his mother. He hugged her a lot and often told her
that he loved her. He had a room of his own but would insist on sleeping in his
parents’ bedroom at night saying there were robbers in his room. All he needed was a hug and a kiss by Sarita
to chase him to his room at night.

Samar
had only fond memories of his parents from his childhood. Like all married
couples that he knew or had watched on TV, his parents too had their share of
disagreements and squabbles but their quarrels would last only a few minutes.
Invariably at the end of every fight, the entire family would go out to Baskin Robins for ice cream.

That day it didn’t end with going to the ice
cream parlour. Anup and Sarita were sitting on the couch and watching TV after
dinner, something they did every day. In between surfing channels, Anup shared
highlights of his day at work with Sarita while she flipped through the latest
issue of a woman’s journal. Samar who was around ten at that time sat on the
rocking chair close by with his new
Tintin in hand which Sarita had bought for him while returning from skating
that evening. He was too engrossed in
the comic to pay attention to his parents’ conversation. Inline skates were the
only words he could catch.

“You
can spend any amount of money on yourself but not twenty thousand to buy inline
skates for your son,” Sarita fumed when Anup questioned about her indulgence on
inline skates.

“If you were earning money, you
would’ve known its value. You just want to enjoy at home and waste my hard
earned money?” he snarled. It seemed he
was distressed over something; the demand to buy inline skates by his wife
infuriated him further.

“Your hard earned money? Is this not my money,
too? To hell with you and your money!” She flung the magazine that she had in
her hand on him. His spectacles fell down with the blow.

“How dare you hit me?”Aunp stood up.

Picking
up his glasses from the floor, in retaliation he gave her a slight push. Sarita lost her balance and tripped.
She banged her head against the chest kept nearby. Before Anup could react, he saw her
lying unconscious on the floor, her silky black hair strewn across her face.

“Sarita!”Anup panicked when he saw blood
oozing out from her head. The sharp edge of the wooden chest had hit the
delicate portion of her head.

“Sarita...Sarita
get up...,” he cried reaching for the water bottle kept on the table. He turned
the bottle upside down on her face and slapped her cheeks lightly to bring her
to consciousness but he couldn’t revive her. He felt her pulse and took his
mouth closer to hers to check if she was still breathing.

She
was breathing. Samar could see her chest heaving.

“Your
mamma has been hurt on the head. I will
take her to the hospital. We will come back soon. Don’t open the door to anyone,” Samar heard
his father say. “It’s nothing serious,
she only requires a few stitches; she will be fine,” Anup added, seeing a dazed
expression on his son’s face.

Samar
was too traumatized to utter a word.

At
home, Samar waited for his parents to return.
That day, he wanted Sarita to read the new Tintin. Though he could read
it himself, while snuggled in bed with her, the characters would come alive with
his mother’s magical voice. Samar neatly arranged the comic on the side table
and waited for his mother to return.

After
four hours, Anup returned alone.

+++

Samar
couldn’t believe that his mother would never come back to kiss him, read
stories to him and sleep by his side. In
an instant, his blissful world was shattered into miniscule pieces.

Why did he kill mamma? Why he had to shout at
her? Why he had to push her so hard?
Many unanswered questions hovered in Samar’s mind.

Samar
wished they could roll back in time and his parents start their conversation
again, discuss amicably, the way they always did. Who would imagine even in
their wildest dreams that a slight push could be fatal. He still believed it to
be a dream where everything would be alright when Anup would wake up and Sarita
would be standing at his bed side with a cup of tea in her hand and a smile on
her lips, her long plait pulled in front.

The
memories of that night were impossible to ward off. Their lives changed upside
down. Anup stopped going to work; he would stay in his room the entire day. He
was unable to come to terms with the loss. He was too shattered himself to
comfort his son. They shifted to another house.
Samar was not sure, if the move could fill the vacuum that had been
created in his life.

Every
night, after Samar went to sleep, Anup would go to his son’s room and sit by
his side.

“Samar,
please forgive me! It was just an accident,” he would say, running his fingers
through his son’s hair while the boy pretended to sleep.

Samar
stopped talking to his father. He only spoke to him when he had to, and it was
always in monosyllables. They lived like
two strangers under one roof. Samar had lost his mother but Anup had lost both
his wife and son.

Sometimes,
when there would a power cut in their apartment complex, both father and son
would sit across each other quietly in the balcony while they waited for the
power supply to resume; in the dark, Samar would hear the soft sobs of his
father. Samar had a strange sense of
satisfaction on seeing his father crying.
He abhorred his father. He considered himself an orphan now. Though the court
had acquitted Anup, Samar held his father responsible for his mother’s death.

Later,
Anup’s mother came to live with them. She repeatedly told Samar that his father
loved his mother immensely; they fought because all married couples fight but
there was no animosity between them. It was just a freak accident; he didn’t
intend to kill her.

“No,
you are lying. Daddy killed Mamma because he didn’t want to buy inline skates
for me. I hate him,” he shouted at his grandmother before shutting himself in
his room.

The
years passed. The entire axis of Samar’s life had shifted, though it appeared
to be normal to the outside world. He did well in studies, played sports and made
friends. He kept himself busy all the time leaving him with no energy to think
of the bygone years but happiness was impossible without his mother. The moment
he would enter home, he would go into a dismal mood again. He didn’t like to
smile in his father’s presence. He didn’t want his father to feel that he had
forgiven him.

Samar wished he could fulfil his mother’s wish
of becoming an international skating champion but he had vowed never to wear
skates again in life. Skates reminded
him of his beloved mother.

+++

“It’s closing time now; better go!” The
security guard at the skating rink brought him out of his reverie.

Samar
looked at his watch. It was 7 pm. He
took out his mobile from his breast pocket to find nine missed calls from Anup.
Though his mobile was not on silent mode, surprisingly he hadn’t heard his
phone ring. He kept the phone back in the pocket. That night, he was leaving
India. After finishing his education, he would take up a job and settle down in
the US.

He came
out on the road and waived at an auto rickshaw.

“Kings Mansion building,” he told the address
of his old apartment to the driver. He wanted to visit all those places that
had memories of his once happy family. When he entered the building, he
realized that he didn’t have the apartment keys. He climbed the stairs anyway and was
surprised to find that the door of their apartment was ajar. Samar walked in
with unsteady steps. He stood in the foyer and looked around. Everything was as it was eight years ago –the
rocking chair, the TV, the couch where his parents were sitting, the chest, the
carpet where his mother collapsed. It
had been years since he left that place but it felt like yesterday. He kneeled
down and ran his fingers over the spot on the carpet where he had last seen his
mother. The sob that was stuck in his
throat burst open. The tears wet his face before falling over his hand. Today
he missed his mother immensely. He just wanted
a glimpse of her, to hear her voice or see some signal that she was watching
him, understanding his pain. He wanted to hug her and ask her why she left him.
But he was 18 and knew that people who died didn’t come back. He wished for a miracle which could bring her
back.

Big
boys don’t cry, his mother always said when he would cry after getting hurt
while skating. He got up, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He
gazed at a spot in the kitchen and imagined his mother, her petite frame bent
over the stove, she humming a tune from an old Hindi film song.

He
wandered in the house aimlessly. He walked up to his room to find a pair of
inline skates on the bed. His eyes
brightened on seeing the skates. It refreshed memories of his skating
days. He picked up a skate and caressed
it.

Wrapping
his arms around the skate that he was holding, he closed his eyes lightly and
imagined his mother’s smiling face. The
tears welled up in his eyes again.

“Mamma, I miss you so much. Mamma, come
back....” he sobbed like a ten year old, skate still in his embracing
hold.

“Samar, what are you doing here?” he heard a
voice from behind.

Samar
turned his head to meet his father’s moist eyes.

Samar
stopped crying abruptly. He stood there looking at Anup, his face stained with
tears. None of them spoke. Anup was holding a framed picture. Samar looked at
it intensely; it was the same family picture which they got it clicked when once
they had gone to the zoo. All three of
them had posed with trained parrots on their arms. Anup had laughed looking at his wife’s scared expressions
in the photograph. He had insisted on
framing the picture.

The
photograph brought memories of happy days. His mother was dead but his father
was still with him.

Samar
spoke breaking the lull.

“Daddy, my clothes don’t fit in the suitcase,
help me to pack properly,” Samar said between sobs as he reached for his
father’s shoulder to hug him.

Monday, September 23, 2013

As instructed, everyone stood in silence as a mark of respect
towards the departed soul waiting impatiently for the silence to end and the
work to resume. Oh, one minute never seemed so long. With deliverable planned for
the day, the sound of siren exactly after a minute seems relieving for everyone
standing in uncomfortable silence. One minute over and the life is back to coding,
meetings, phone calls, emails and office gossip.

One moment of silence and life is back to usual business for the
rest of the world except the near ones whose life changes for ever. Death being
the only certainty in the world is not tragic; the tragic is the way it is
sniffed out by choice.

What comes into the person when h/she decides to cut short h/her
life? Why no thoughts come to the person’s mind about what will happen to those
who are left to cry and fend for themselves, to those who are dependent on you physically,
emotionally and financially? Can a temporary grief over a failed love overpower
you so much that you let go of everything, everything else seems worthless? That
talent, industriousness, friendliness , creativity to pen out of the box
scripts, great shots , amazing illustrations ... what good were all these? The same could be used to enhance others’
lives. What a waste of talent? What a waste of life?

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Usha, Soundara Rajan’s better half
greets me with an infectiously warm smile as she ushers me into their modest
apartment in Mysore.For the
uninitiated, N.S.Soundara Rajan is Mysore’s connection to the Oscar winning
movie Life of Pi. I am greeted with
an equally contagious smile when the man in question enters their simple, but
aesthetically done up living room. We exchange pleasantries and the
conversation obviously rolls into his days on the sets of Life of Pi.

“Ang Lee is a perfectionist. He wanted the
actors to narrate their dialogues with typical accent of the particular state
like how Tamilians speak English that’s the reason a person like me was hired,”
tells Soundara. Our Mysore man had the task of teaching English with Tamil and
Gujarati twang to the coveted star cast with the focused emphasis on perfecting
their accent. The offer landed in his lap through his son’s actor friend
Thilothama who had auditioned for the role of Pi’s on screen love interest.
Though Thilothama didn’t get the desired role, Soundara became the Tamil accent
guy for the Hollywood crew. For this septuagenarian, Life of Pi was his first tryst with films where he also doubled up
as cultural coach for the crew.

“It would be an understatement to
admit that I was nervous. I was extremely nervous and highly pressurized
because the expectations were high and there was no one to give directions. On
the first day, I was given a file of all the dialogues which had to be spoken
with Tamil and Gujarati accent. After that it was on me to deliver,” Soundara
explains, flipping through the pages of the file which now equals a pride
souvenir for the family. “I was the final authority in my area of work with no
interference or micro management from Ang , actors or anyone else. The renowned
director had complete trust in the people he had hired which made us bring our
best onto the table,” he raves. “As I look back to those moments of
shooting of the film, I can only have immense admiration and respect for Ang
Lee and his wonderful team that worked in this magnificent movie. The amount of
focussed energy and commitment to professionalism and realism that has gone
into making this epic of a movie is indeed very remarkable. I am proud to have
been a crew member of Life of Pi,
truly, a once-in-a-several-lifetimes opportunity,” he beams.

With Ang Lee

There is no stopping Soundara when
he talks about Ang Lee, the man he is in awe of. Talking about Ang’s
professionalism and perfectionism, he recalls a scene from the movie where
actor Tabu is taking out colours from an old Bournvita dabba to draw rangoli
designs. Ang sourced an old worn out Bournvita dabba from Pondicherry for this
scene; every scene had to be closest to reality.

“How was it working with the big
names in film industry?” I can’t help asking.

“Since Ang Lee didn’t have any star like
tantrums, the others in the crew too followed suit. Ang was always the first one to arrive on the
sets,” he tells recalling his sixty days at Taichung in Central Taiwan and
Pondicherry where the shooting was held. Rightly said, a good leader always
leads by example. For sure, Ang should be the right pick to give lessons at our
management institutes. “Coaching Tabu and Adil Hussain was not a problem as
both of them are versatile actors, but it was extremely challenging to coach
Suraj Sharma who played the role of Pi. Here his TGI method,
short for Transformation Guided Imagery, came in handy. TGI is a
motivational technique where the person is made to visualize success and the
final outcome of the task in hand. “I asked Suraj to imagine that he was
receiving Oscar and it worked well both ways; Suraj picked up proper diction
and we won four Oscars,” Soundara says gleefully. Young Ayush Tandon who plays
Pi as a school going boy and a few others were also coached by him.

“Do you have any future plans for
more such film projects?” I ask. “I don’t have any plans, but life does strange
things so you never know,” he replies philosophically.

“Why don’t you pen a book about your
experiences?” I prod this former Electronics & Radar Establishment (LRDE)
staffer who is now a visiting faculty for Communication and negotiation skills
at SP Birla institute in Bangalore, Manipal University and Bhavan’s Priyamvada Birla Institute of
Management, Mysore. He evades my poser and expounds on how
knowledge of English can change the employability of our youth. Why do students
of 10th grade need to study Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare? He
questions. They only need to communicate in English which is the key to success.
English language should be taught from the usage perspective just like the
mother tongue, without bothering much about grammar. In fact, teaching grammar
scoops out the fun from learning a language.

Point to ponder, but that would be another
story, another day.

He lovingly calls his wife to join him for the photograph when I take
out my Sony Cyber - shot from my handbag for the photo shoot.

“Why my picture, what have I done?” she laughs.

“You were my unflinching support throughout the journey. Can a man be
successful without the support of his wife? ” he asks.

Well, I couldn't agree more.

Some facts from Life of Pi (Source: The making of
Life of Pi by Jean Christophe Castelli )

·Almost 86 percent of the scenes featuring
Richard Parker, the Bengal tiger were shot using a computer-generated tiger.

·Most of the time, what you thought was the vast sea was not actually a
sea but an enormous pool- 246 ft long by 98 ft wide by 10 ft deep- holding
about 1,860,000 gallons of water . The
waves were generated by a system of blowers stored inside a row of twelve
boxes- “caissons,” in tank talk – that had a cumulative 2000 horsepower.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

“Some people have to look for adventure where
as adventure comes to some people like me,” Aroon Raman said light-heartedly,
engaging the audience with interesting anecdotes from his own life.The acclaimed author of The Shadow Throne was speaking to the audience at the Just Books
Kuvempunagar library in Mysore on March 17. “This is the most awaited moment
for Just Books Mysore. We had been looking forward to this session for a very
long time,” said Ms Poornima V. Kumar, welcoming the guests at Meet the Author
program.

The bestselling author
has definitely a way with the words, not only written, but also spoken. He is
an orator par excellence and is naturally gifted with the knack of making the
day-to-day things sound fascinating. He
advised the audience to step out of the safe confines of their familiar
surroundings to experience diversity in life.
“Story ideas are all around us, we only need to explore and, later build
on them,” he advised to the wannabe authors.

The Shadow Throne is actually his second book which incidentally became his
first when Osama Bin Laden was killed in his hideout at Abbottabad in May
2011. The new book due to be released
soon by Pan Macmillion is a book on adventure set in Mugal India at the time of
Akbar. The book is a product of considerable research like any other book on
History.

Talking about writing
as a profession or a hobby, “Writing is a gift, for some it comes naturally
where as some have to try really hard to make any headway,” opined Aroon.

He also answered rapid
fire questions giving a peek to the audience about few of his favourites like
favourite peek which undoubtedly is Everest Base Camp. Not many know that his favourite adda during
his days in Mysore was Ramya Hotel.

Aroon is truly a
versatile personality and dons many hats - a successful entrepreneur, a
bestselling author, trekker, tennis enthusiast, keen traveler and of course a
fine orator. He is of the opinion that the authors, even the successful ones
need to have a bunch of beta readers who read their book and give feedback on
what works and what doesn’t. Your critics are your best friends. They keep you
grounded and help you in improving your own work. “My wife is my best critic,”
he admits.

Asked whether Aroon
the author or the entrepreneur, which one he would prefer.

The swaying trees around the lake
on a pleasant summer evening. The cool breeze lovingly slapping both your
cheeks. High pitched calls by migratory
birds perched on tree tops. If you are lucky, you might spot the female
guarding her nest. Her human counterpart
sitting on the lush green grass nearby gazing at the nature’s bounty.One little
boat tied to a tree.Couples waiting for their turn at the boat station. The
children playing in the vicinity... Hello, come back from your dream world.
With most of the lakes in Mysore left at the mercy of poor governance and
unmindful industrialization, the birds chirping and water
swaying find mention only in the poetry.

If you are asked to name the lakes
in Mysore then in all likelihood most of us will say ...Kukkarahalli (known more for controversies than its serene water
body) and Karanji. The survival of the only two lakes has nothing to do with
the K factor. Did you know that there are 30 lakes in Mysore? And if all these
lakes were allowed to bloom to its natural glory, then Mysore could have been a
close contender to Udaipur for the city of lakes tag. It is different that unlike Udaipur most of
the lakes in Mysore are man made but it is more traumatic to watch the man made lakes literally go down the drain than the natural ones as along with the lake,
the substantial amount of money spent on constructing the lake also does a vanishing
act. Hebbal Lake is one such lake which
is on the verge of dying a man made death. Most of the people do not even know
the location of Hebbal Lake; it is shown outside Mysore even in the map of
Mysore district. About one and a half century ago, Mysore witnessed development
of many lakes. Hebbalkere was one such water body which was constructed to
irrigate the green and flat land for cultivation. It is a perennial lake with the objective to
retain water the entire year. Spread over 30.3 acres in the heart of Hebbal
area in north Mysore, the lake is fantastically engineered. There are high
bunds (647 metres to be precise) and if you happen to take a walk on the not so
narrow pathway, you cover a distance of 2 km.

About a decade ago, JNRUM carried
out a study on the lakes of Mysore and emphasized on the restoration of lakes,
but only two lakes K and K were restored. A few years later, during the tenure
of Chief Minister Yeddyurappa , 5 Crore
were granted to each consistency for restoration of lakes. Eleven lakes were
identified for restoration, but only six could be tackled. Those six are –
Hebbal Lake, Bommanahalli lake,Bogadhilake,Hinkallake,Dalvoy lake[partial] and
Kukkarahalli. The lakes that missed the bus due to official lethargy and
ineptness are Lingamudhi Lake, Malalavadilake,Devnoorlake,Kyathamaranahalli
lake, and Hinkalrayanakere.

In the past, the Hebbal Lake witnessed people’s protest against
development of industries by KIADB in the vicinity of the lake. Earlier both
raw sewage and industrial waste used to pollute the lake. Industrial effluents, junk,
waste - the lake became a dumping yard for all kind of industrial and human
waste. The direct flow of raw sewage now stands diverted downstream, and only
sporadic flows of sewage from blocked UGD makes its way through the storm
water drains of Hebbal. Flow of industrial waste water into the lake continues
unabated causing concern about the ecosystem health and quality of ground
water. “Unfortunately the money was there for the
restoration of the lake, but the opportunity was lost in bureaucratic hurdles
and lack of commitment for this cause. Today it is no one’s baby,” tells
U.N.Ravi Kumar who has been involved in the restoration of lakes in
Mysore. Ravi is a professor by profession
and environmentalist by passion.

Tragically and interestingly the
lake is only a few notches away from its complete revival. If you visit the
lake, you will see that most of the work has already been done. Today with secured fencing in place, the lake
is free from encroachments. High bunds were also erected later. De silting,
widening of bunds and pitching is complete. The construction of Walkway wide
enough for a sedan to pass was started with great fanfare, but it is still not
complete.

“If the public is aware of its rights, anything is possible. The
examples are in front of us. But for public outcry, the scenic view of the
water body at the Kukkarahalli Lake would have been blocked by the barbaric
fence. The stakeholders which comprises of industries and public mainly people
living in the vicinity of the lake should join hands together to restore the
lake to its past glory,” says Ravi Kumar.

A few likeminded Mysoreans who
consider lung space as their right has been frequenting the lake on Sundays
lately. The group is going to present a petition to the deputy commissioner
seeking development and maintenance of the lake for the benefit of general
public. If on a Sunday morning, you happen to pass by, you will find a bunch of
enthusiastic men, women and children cleaning up the garbage around the lake
with their bare hands. Join them. Save the lake, it is your right. With World
Water Day just come and gone on 22nd March, it is never too late to
begin..

Monday, March 4, 2013

Ladies compartment, separate queue
for ladies, ladies tailor ( where the lone man is the ‘master ji’ himself), salon –ladies only , even government college for
women ( my alma mater) and women engineering college is all understandable ,
but all women bank – for women, by women... why? Does this mean poor husband is
not allowed inside and has to stand outside the bank? Is this a baby step towards
women empowerment? Does ‘women only’ bank ensure that all financial decisions will
be taken by woman of the house alone? Will this encourage more women to open
bank accounts and frequent the bank more often to withdraw the money for their
husbands? Or does it mean that all the bank related work will now be done by
women in addition to their other sundry responsibilities.

Will it lend only to
women run businesses or also to businesses run by men in the name of women, where the
woman is like the president of India. If this step is towards women empowerment
then why this can’t be achieved by all gender banks? Instead of this eye wash in
the name of women empowerment , FM would
have done a real service to women by
introducing a few self employment schemes for women, providing vocational
skills to women. Anyway, here are a few more ideas after all women bank - women theaters only, restaurants by women, for women, shopping malls for women, women
hospitals, et al.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Rajat Gupta, former Goldman Sachs
board member had everything that a human being could dream of – good education,
unmatched wealth, loving family, good character, respect, and that too earned
through grit, hard work and brilliance. Not so long ago, he was hailed as the
poster boy of Indian businesses in America and a role model for millions. He
proved to the hilt that dreams do come true if they are peppered with focus and
sweat.

What came into him that he let everything
slip away so easily? What took Rajat almost a life time to earn, was lost in a
jiffy. Right from the time when he was ranked
15th in IIT JEE exam, the spot light has always been on him; but
this time it is for all the wrong reasons. For sure, it was not an instant
decision to fall astray something like murder or rape which can happen in rage
without understanding the consequences of the act. What did he think that he was in India and
never be caught or his good connections will bail him out if ever caught or it
was okay to help a friend? He was deep
into American system and was fully aware of its laws. Still, he fell to the
greed (was it greed?) or plain stupidity.

Rajat Gupta is doomed. He may
live a normal life after completing his sentence and paying the huge fine which
includes $ 6.2 million to Goldman Sachs and more than $30 million towards his
own legal charges. Was it really worth it?
No amount of money, repentance, convincing, and explanation can get him
back what he has lost – his respect. His friends, hundreds of charitable
organizations and societies that he was associated with, will never look at him
again with awe. No matter what, it will never be the same again for him and his
family. Confessions of a respectable inside trader, is the only saving grace
for him. He should come forward and enlighten people about what comes into a
person’s mind when greed or stupidity get the better of him. Most of us would
want to know.